


Purple Spotted Silence

by Lyl



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Community: sga_flashfic, Gen, Illnesses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-19
Updated: 2010-07-19
Packaged: 2017-10-10 16:31:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/101808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyl/pseuds/Lyl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John had thought his biggest problem would be explaining the massive team hangover and loss of several key pieces of clothing to Elizabeth, without it sounding like they'd been partying at an intergalactic kegger for three days.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Purple Spotted Silence

“I'm sorry, Rodney,” said Carson, stepping away from the exam table. “You've caught the bug.”

John, watching from the sidelines, saw the subtle twitch of Beckett's mouth and knew he was holding back a smile. McKay apparently saw it too and opened his mouth to let loose what promised to be a vitriol-filled rave of epic proportions, but Beckett managed to cut him off.

“Ah. No speaking, Rodney,” he said, holding up a hand. “The more you speak, the more damage is done to your vocal cords.”

The glare Beckett received in response seemed to lack something essential when not accompanied by a rant on the voodoo-filled soft sciences. McKay seemed to realize that at the same time John did, looking even more outraged than before.

John looked back and forth between the two, doctor and patient, and bit his lip. Hard. There was no need to get between an angry McKay and a Beckett who was doing his best to keep the smile off his face. Though, really, Carson should know better than to antagonize McKay, especially when he'd just been told he couldn't speak a single word for the next two weeks.

If he could have growled without permanently damaging his precious vocal cords, John was positive that's what Rodney would have done. Instead, Rodney twisted around for the computer tablet he'd dropped beside him when he first came in. Picking up the pen, he started to scribble furiously on the screen, occasionally looking up to gaze at Beckett in a menacing manner he could only have picked up from Ronon.

“So, Doc,” said John, stepping into the silence to draw Beckett's attention away from Rodney. “What's the count up to?”

“Eighty seven, counting Rodney, here,” he said sounding tired. John knew he'd been working hard for the last week, trying to find a way to cure the spread of the bug around the city. While it wasn't deadly, it did cause permanent damage if not treated carefully.

Ronon had called it 'speaking sickness' because Teyla couldn't. She'd been labelled as 'patient zero' a day after coming back from M8T-228 and their own version of a harvest festival – without underground nuclear bunkers, thankfully. Stumbling almost blindly through the gate, John had thought his biggest problem would be explaining the massive team hangover and loss of several key pieces of clothing to Elizabeth, without it sounding like they'd been partying at an intergalactic kegger for three days.

The next day Teyla had shown up in the infirmary, silent and covered in weird purplish spots, and Carson had confirmed a Pegasus variant of laryngitis that could literally render someone permanently voiceless if not treated properly. Ronon explained that it lasted just over two weeks, and that when the spots disappeared it was safe to speak again.

He also explained that it was only passed by 'physical contact of the oral kind', which caused Teyla to blush and avoid meeting their eyes.

“So this is the Pegasus version of mono?” had been Rodney's contribution before being told to shut up. Teyla's glare of promised death probably had more to do with him slinking out of the infirmary than Elizabeth's reprimanding look.

“And the...” John made a vague motion towards his face, “any idea what's causing them?” Because, really, they were an unnatural shade of purple that the body shouldn't be able to produce. Ever.

And it was just wrong to see people covered in bright purple polka dots the size of dimes.

“None, Colonel,” said Beckett, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his lab coat in a show of frustration. “We've run every test we could think of, analysed everything about them, and still nothing. Short of a biopsy, there's nothing else we can do.”

At the word 'biopsy', Rodney's head popped up and he looked interested for the first time.

“No, Rodney. The spots are harmless and merely cosmetic,” said Beckett. His attention back on his patient, John could see his eyes light up a little more at the mere sight of Rodney.

Rodney glared again and did some weird emphatic hand waving with his pen, as if trying to convey his meaning with gestures alone. Years around Rodney had taught him to read his gestures, so John was probably one of the few that could translate.

“I don't care how ridiculous you look, they'll be gone in two weeks with no permanent damage to skin or nerves.”

Beckett was another that could speak 'McKay hand gestures', apparently.

Really, though, John couldn't blame Rodney. Being a purple speckled scientist for the next two weeks had to suck.

“Any idea why the scientists seem to be more affected?” he asked Carson, pulling his attention away from Rodney who'd gone back to scribbling madly on his tablet.

“No clue, Colonel,” replied Beckett. “The epidemiology unit's having a hard time pinning down the mode of transmission, and everything we've tested so far has come up negative for the bacteria. Unless there's a secret underground orgy in the city that no one's told me about, we can't figure out how this is being passed from person to person.”

Because Teyla _had not_ passed it to Dr Planto in the way the infection was normally passed. John didn't think they'd ever met before they were both isolated in the infirmary with the same purple spots, let alone made out with the Australian oceanographer. And right there, that image, was what was wrong with this entire 'speaking sickness' thing, because Teyla would – and had – kick ass for less.

“Rodney, have you been involved in any giant science department orgies recently?” asked John just because he could. Out of the corner of his eye, John caught the full body jerk as Beckett coughed to cover a surprised laugh.

Rodney's look said plainly _'You will die a thousand deaths.'_ to which John just smiled. He grabbed the tablet out of Rodney's hands that either contained a novel length tirade that would eviscerate whoever read it, or plans to exact his unholy and vicious revenge on Beckett or anyone else who made fun of him. Either way, it was best kept out of Rodney's hands, and John led him down to the mess hall where he could drown his sorrows in the last of the chocolate chip cookies.

~!~

It was eerie walking into the labs these days. With a full two thirds of the science staff infected and unable to speak, even the smallest sound was noticeable. Footsteps echoed along the hallways, announcing his arrival enough in advance that most of the lab was looking towards the doorway with varying expressions of desperate hope.

Rodney, of course, was wearing his near-permanent expression of 'incredibly pissed by the idiots they saddle me with' which seemed to step up a level or two when he caught sight of him in the doorway.

“Ah, Colonel, come to take McKay to lunch?” asked Zelenka from beside Simpson. The pleading, hunted edge to the request cause John's lips to twitch ever so slightly. It seemed Zelenka was one of the few in the science department who still had their voices he concluded, looking at the multitude of purple spotted faces. They still didn't know if the people who were healthy were immune to the infection or just hadn't been exposed to it yet. Either way, the majority of the military contingent were giving the scientists a wide berth until they didn't look like circus clowns on crack anymore.

Every head in the lab turned to him at Zelenka's words, and John was not in the least surprised to see a sea of scientists on the edge of violence, all imploring him to help. It seemed that losing his voice had made Rodney even more of a bear, and without the ability to interrupt or argue back, his lab minions were close to snapping.

And it had only been a day. Geez.

“Sure,” he said casually, like that had been the plan all along. Actually, it had been the seven desperate emails he'd received in the last three hours that had precipitated his trip to the labs, but no one really needed to know that. “Let's go see what culinary gifts the kitchen staff have come up with.”

Rodney looked at him for a minute, as if debating whether to ignore him or find some way to communicate his complete hatred for being chased from his own lab by his minions. Then, his shoulders slumped in defeat.

Turning back to his computer, he pounded out what seemed to be novel-length notes before grabbing his tablet and stylus and heading towards the door. John had just enough time to see a giant IM window open up on every screen in the lab, flashing three paragraphs of text and causing the three people who still had voices to sigh for the entire group.

It seemed McKay was still tormenting his staff even now.

Smirking, John gave a brief nod to Zelenka as he followed Rodney out of the labs, and decided he really didn't want to know what the foam Nerf bats next to Rodney's desk were for.

As he stepped into the hallway, he could practically taste the relief coming from behind him.

Catching up to Rodney, he looked at the message of _'There better be pudding!!!'_ Rodney had penned to him on the tablet and smiled even as he steered him towards the mess.

~!~

Five days later, John was not finding the entire situation quite so funny, despite the purple polka dots adorning the faces of most of the senior staff.

“The...blemishes...are simply a biproduct of the bacteria's metabolic process,” said Beckett. “It's really quite fascinating how these bacteria seem to colonize around whatever mucous membrane they come into contact with. The vocal cords seem to be especially susceptible, the vibrations associated with speaking causing the bacteria to release toxins that destroy the-”

A loud clinking noise interrupted Carson, turning everyone's attention to Rodney who had started to write furiously on his tablet. John placed a hand on the screen, interrupting mid-word the no doubt vicious recounting of Rodney's favourite 'medicine is voodoo' speech.

“All contaminated material has been disposed of, and my men are on the final leg of their search,” John said deliberately, looking to the left of Elizabeth's shoulder. He still couldn't look her in the face, because seeing those purple spots only put images of inappropriate behaviour into his head.

A thumping noise caught his attention, his eyes narrowing dangerously as he read Rodney's tablet.

Tablet communication and various shorthand was becoming a new language as Atlantis became even more eerily silent as the days progressed. Even if you hadn't caught the infection, it was just easier to communicate via tablet on a person-to-person basis.

“No, Rodney,” he said. “We're not saving any of it for an emergency.”

The source of the infection – and the strange transmission pattern – had finally been uncovered two days before. The damn chalnik beans from the Planet of the Three Day Kegger had been steeped in the bacteria that caused the mutated laryngitis.

Normally, it would have been an easy process to gather up all available samples of the beans, but Atlantis had originally traded for them because they were the closest to coffee beans they'd found in Pegasus. The fact that they had a higher caffeine content than Earth coffee, was only icing on the cake.

Dripping hot water through the ground up beans only seemed to awaken the bacteria from its dormant state apparently, making it especially bad as a coffee substitute.

Unfortunately, dispersion throughout Atlantis had already started, so retrieving the samples had been a difficult task.

The discrepancy in infection rates became clear when you took into account the amount of coffee the various labs went through on a daily basis. Despite the bacteria's low infection rate, the sheer volume drunk by the scientists guaranteed a higher infection rate. Every swallow was you spinning the roulette wheel of purple spots.

The military, in contrast, was still plowing through their very carefully hoarded stash of Earth coffee in the barracks – where John usually got his daily dose. Most of the marines affected had gotten it through the more conventional 'physical contact' route, which was more than John had ever wanted to know about his men.

In a bit of strategical brilliance, John waiting until the middle of the night to raid the labs for the contaminated coffee. His battle hardened marines had balked at going into the labs in full daylight to steal the better-than-earth-coffee substitute held in high regard by most of the city, so didn't complain about the 3am mission.

Now, as the city was mourning the loss of the Best Thing Ever and sulking in their plain Earth coffee and waffles, he had his men ransacking the various living quarters for secret stashes. He'd gone through Rodney's room personally before the staff meeting, and wasn't surprised in the least to find a three months supply of the beans. And any Hershey bars that happen to be missing where just compensation on his part.

“I will not allow those beans in this city, Rodney,” Beckett said from across the table, glaring at Rodney, not a little bit smug.

Carson drank tea.

Rodney glared sullenly back, though had little to argue against. The coffee side of the Great Coffee-vs-Tea debate had just suffered a huge blow.

“Carson does have the last say on new food sources,” added John, pretending not to notice Elizabeth's slumping shoulders.

Another thump drew his attention back to Rodney and his Tablet of Doom which had probably been so traumatised these last few days that it would never work properly again.

_I HATE YOU!!!!_

The bold, block letter message was accompanied by a tight-lipped glare before he stomped out of the conference room. He was probably on his way to the labs to terrorize his staff as they all went through caffeine withdrawal, and resigned himself to another midday rescue.

Teyla soon followed once it was clear the meeting was over, seeming in better spirits now that she was no longer being blamed for the epidemic. Ronon was close behind, doing his own part as protector and translator, since Teyla wasn't able to use a tablet to communicate with. Elizabeth was next, a despondent air about her as she slunk out of the room, most likely into the start of her how caffeine detox.

Left with only Carson for company, John met his eyes and shared a quick, amused smile.

Now that the crisis was over and the source of the speaking sickness had been discovered, they could all relax and enjoy the quiet of the city.

It was almost like a vacation.

END


End file.
